


Superhuman Resources

by alpacamyhedgehog



Series: Librarians of S.H.I.E.L.D. [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, American Sign Language, Bananas, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Librarians, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, accidental book vandalism, barely restrained fangirling, steve rogers vs 1950s housewife cooking, vintage foods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacamyhedgehog/pseuds/alpacamyhedgehog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every S.H.I.E.L.D. employee has a hero. But when superheroes come to the Triskelion's research library for help, it might just be the librarians who save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Librarians of S.H.I.E.L.D. vs. Horrifying Vintage Foods

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to beradan, A+ beta reader and enabler.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy has been a Captain America fangirl for practically her whole life. When she started working at A.C.C.E.S.S., she expected to find some of his old files. She did not expect to find him in her office, asking to borrow a cookbook.

It was funny how things changed. Amy remembered when sports had dominated social life before the Battle of New York. Everybody seemed to have a favorite team, and fans bought replicas of their favorite athletes’ jerseys, hung pennants in their cubicles, and stocked up on finger foods for big game days.

A year and a half after her favorite superhero had pretty much come back from the dead, and several months after the Avengers had saved the world from aliens, Amy was still getting used to the fact that liking superheroes was now mainstream.

When she was a kid, she had gotten picked on for doodling shields in her notebooks and writing school reports on Steve Rogers or World War II at least once a year. Now there was more Captain America merch, biographies, and documentaries than she knew what to do with, and it seemed like every teenage girl she met had a shield-emblazoned t-shirt.

It was nice to work with so many people who were as crazy about superheroes as she was, too. So many of the S.H.I.E.L.D. employees had a favorite hero, and the librarians were no exception.

Everyone had an opinion over which Avenger they hoped they’d get to meet someday.

Almost everyone, that is. June seemed to prefer stirring up debates between the other librarians to fangirling over any one superhero.

If the reference librarians were split between Thor and Captain America, she just happened to mention Iron Man when Frank was walking within earshot, and they’d inevitably get an earful about the IT guy’s favorite genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. Or, if Karla and Jen got a little too gushy about Black Widow during a coffee break, she would bring up Hawkeye just to shake things up a little...and to watch Ryan’s eyes almost turn into little hearts.

The only superhero-related argument June stayed out of was Frank and Amy’s Iron Man vs. Captain America conflict.

Most of the A.C.C.E.S.S. staff had taken sides. The three reference librarians and Cora, June’s underling in Special Collections, were Cap fans, while Frank recruited the tech-savvy catalogers to back him up on all things Tony Stark.

None of them said anything about June’s lack of interest until one heated conversation at lunch.

“I’m just  _ saying _ ,” Frank said to Karla, who had her arms crossed defensively and was leaning against Jen, the two of them looking like a cardigan-wearing girl gang ready to pounce. “There’s no way Capsicle can survive in the modern world, let alone regain the relevance he had in the forties.”

Amy could feel her face turning deep scarlet, but she kept chewing her burrito aggressively.

Karla’s mouth was already open with indignation and a quick reply when a loud clatter, followed by the sound of shattering ceramic, interrupted the argument.

June, who had been making coffee  _ very loudly _ for the past few minutes, had been deliberately pawing through the kitchen cupboards for a coffee cup. Now, two mugs lay in pieces on the floor.

“Oops,” she said, looking placidly at the wreckage.

Roger and Cora leapt from their seats and began to help her sweep up the mess.

“Hey, you’ve been really quiet lately,” Roger said to June as they worked. “I would have thought you’d take Amy’s side on Team Cap. Aren’t you two, like, best friends or something?”

June had picked up one of the broken mugs and was now twisting it over and over, rubbing its gleaming surface with her thumb, until Cora made grabby hands at it and threw it in the trash.

“I would, if I actually liked Captain America,” she said, finally. Her voice was quiet and apologetic, but it echoed for a split second in the break room until the other librarians reacted.

“YES!” Frank cheered, and Karla and Jen turned to each other and began chattering in a shocked murmur so low that Cora, June, and Roger couldn’t hear what they were saying across the room.

Finishing a mouthful of burrito, Amy smacked the table with the heel of her hand.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT LIKE STEVE ROGERS,” she yelped. “You’ve seen all six hours of the documentary miniseries! We watched it  _ together _ !”

Again, the librarians were stunned into silence.

In the few months they’d been working at A.C.C.E.S.S., it seemed to them that Amy and June had known each other forever. Heck, for all their differences in personality, the two sometimes seemed to share a brain. If they could disagree on something that seemed so important to the whole department, what then?

“You know I only watched that documentary with you because I knew you’d disown me as a friend, right?” June joked. She grinned hesitantly at her friend’s bewilderment.

“But why?” asked Karla, finding her voice at last. “What don’t you like about him?”

“I didn’t say I disliked him. I just...don’t  _ like _ him. There’s a difference.”

As if that were all she had to say, she took the trash can from Cora and returned it to its spot by the door.

“Aren’t you going to explain?” Amy spoke again.

June took a moment to reach for an unbroken mug from the cupboard, more quietly this time, and pour herself a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know. I just. I guess I find him hard to believe?”

She took a sip of coffee, grimaced when she found it too hot, and set the cup down on the counter.

“I mean, he’s been the public face of America for, what, seventy years?” she tried again. “I have a hard time believing that he’s everything he appears to be. All that truth, justice, protector-of-the-innocent crap...hell. Even America hasn’t been able to live up to that reputation for the past several decades, if ever. How are we supposed to expect one man to be all that?”

“You think it’s all propaganda?” Amy filled in, the shock of a moment before fading into sad surprise. She hadn’t thought June could be so cynical, and she felt a little sorry for her.

“I think  _ he’s _ propaganda. Nobody’s that good.”

With that, she took her coffee mug and slipped out of the break room.

“I know one thing that isn’t propaganda,” Karla piped up as soon as June was gone. “Those abs. Hot. Damn.”

“Oh, god, I’d devour that man,” breathed Jen.

Frank rolled his eyes and unfolded himself from the too-small kitchen chair. “Aaaaaand that’s my cue to leave.”

Roger polished off his chicken salad and bolted toward the door. “Me too. I have a mile-high stack of books to catalog before quitting time.”

Amy headed for her office, too. She wasn’t sure which made her more uncomfortable: June’s revelation or another series of Cap-centric innuendoes from Karla and Jen.

It wasn’t that she felt prudish about it. The reference minions were certainly allowed to talk about whatever they wanted, as long as they were out of earshot of A.C.C.E.S.S. users.

The thing was, she still remembered watching a cartoon featuring Captain America when she was small, and then begging her parents for star-spangled footie pajamas (which she never got). When she looked at it that way, objectifying his body just seemed...weird. She’d rather think about the other qualities she’d always loved him for.

Well. No reason to let feelings and weird conversations about superheroes keep her from getting work done.

She began marking potential acquisitions in the stack of book catalogs beside her computer. She was almost halfway through the second catalog when a hesitant knock sounded at her office door.

There was only one member of the A.C.C.E.S.S. staff who still knocked when Amy left her door open (a closed door was a clear sign that she wanted to be left alone, except in apocalyptic circumstances).

“Roger, I know you guys are already swamped, but I’m working on some more acquisitions now. If I order them today, they should get here by next week,” she said without looking up.

“Um,” said a voice deeper than she expected.

She glanced up from her work and looked straight at Steven  _ freaking _ Grant Rogers.

She gaped before she could stop herself. Was she seeing this right, or was the combination of burritos and that argument at lunch messing with her head?

“Sorry,” he said again, “but the sign by your office says ‘reference,’ and there’s nobody else around.”

It was her turn to say, “Um.”

Ugh. She must look like an awkward mess with half a brain right now. Trying to seem professional, she dialed the intercom at the reference desk.

“Just a minute,” she said to the superhero (!) in the doorway of her office, then turned back to the phone.

“Ryan?” she called. 

No response. He must’ve given up waiting for Karla and Jen and abandoned the desk to join them in the break room. Amy made a mental note to talk to the three of them about not leaving the main library unattended.

“Sorry about that; seems like all our reference librarians have gone to lunch. Is there something I can help you with, Captain--uh--Mr…”

He shot her a smile so polite it almost seemed scripted.

“Steve is fine, ma’am. And maybe. I hope so.” His voice faltered a little, and for the first time, Amy wondered what Captain America could want from the library. Had to be important, right? 

“Amy Rudaski. Head of reference services.” Ugh, that sounded so stilted. She waved desperately at the chair in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”

He pulled out the chair at a suitable distance to accommodate himself (far, very far, away from Amy’s desk) and perched on the seat awkwardly, hands clenched in his lap. Clearly he was trying not to loom over her desk. There was just...so much of him.

His outfit was dressy enough that she assumed he’d come to the Triskelion on S.H.I.E.L.D. business, but a far cry from the dark suits that the agents usually wore. The dress shirt he had on was such a bright shade of blue that it brought out the fierceness in his eyes and tinted his hair with caramel.

_ Irish, _ Amy thought when she noticed the hair color.  _ Sarah Rogers was Irish _ .

She was suddenly embarrassed of her encyclopedic Captain America knowledge, and she felt grateful that she’d decided to keep most of her collection at home instead of decorating her office. She had a bookshelf in her apartment full of twenty years’ worth of books and merch--June liked to call it the Cap Shelf.

Well, most of it was at home.

Her gaze drifted toward the Funko bobblehead that she kept near her computer. She tried to nudge it behind the stack of catalogs without Steve noticing.

The shiny blue helmet bobbed, catching the eye of the real-life hero on the other side of the desk. He didn’t say anything, but Amy thought she saw a more genuine smile flicker across his face, just for a moment.

Good.

She was glad he realized he wasn’t the only one in an awkward position. It was important, during the reference interview, to put the patron at ease, to help them feel more comfortable about asking for help, even if the patron was an out-of-time superhero who’d fought Nazis and aliens. 

And even if that happened at the expense of Amy’s dignity.

“I’m looking for a cookbook. Do you have any of those here?” he asked abruptly.

She gaped a second time. A living legend was here. In her office. Asking for a  _ cookbook _ .

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t know why I expected a S.H.I.E.L.D. library to have something so ordinary. I would have gone to the public library, but it’s kind of out of the way.”

“I guess I expected you to ask about something involving national security,” she blurted without thinking.

When he threw his head back and laughed, the tension in the small office almost completely dispersed.

“It is kinda weird, isn’t it,” he admitted. “But I’ve been wanting to learn how to cook for myself for a while. Food seems so different now. Instant everything! And all the restaurants I go to seem to have these unspoken rules that I don’t know. Even the bananas are have changed.”

Amy nodded sympathetically.

“What kind of recipes are you looking for?” she managed, trying not to think about how she knew the part about bananas because of her Captain America factoid knowledge.

“Something with good directions--maybe an older cookbook. It would be nice to catch up on some of the foods I missed out on while I was...well.”

“We might have something in Special Collections, but if not, we can always order some through interlibrary loan. Let me check with our archivist real quick.”

She paged June’s office on the intercom.

“Yeah?” June sounded distracted.

“Hey, do you have any cookbooks over there? Maybe some vintage ones?”

“I might, but there’s so much stuff over here that I--oh! Actually, we got in a new collection last week from one of the former S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups, and some of his wife’s stuff was in there. Mostly old sewing patterns, but maybe some cookbooks, too.”

“Great, can you send it over?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be processed yet, so the catalogers might kill me, but sure. Just give me the agent’s name and I’ll enter it in the system later.”

Amy couldn’t stop herself from grinning. This was going to be good.

“Steven Rogers.”

A clatter sounded on the other end of the line, followed by a flurry of ruffling papers and a few muffled curses that Amy couldn’t quite make out.

She threw her trying-not-to-laugh face at Steve, and he raised his eyebrows, amused. 

When June’s voice came back on the line a moment later, it was a little strained.

“I found a couple cookbooks for ya. Be right over.”

Once again, Amy found herself alone in her office with her childhood hero. No, make that current hero. Crap. What was she going to say to him until June got there?

Thankfully, he spoke first.

“So, what exactly does a library  _ do _ at a national intelligence agency?”

Before she knew it, she was explaining the ins and outs of her work to Captain America himself. And what was more, he was nodding and asking questions.

Later, she chalked it up to extreme politeness, but the feeling of actually being listened to was rare enough, let alone by the actual historical figure that she’d been borderline stalking for years, that she couldn’t help feeling flattered even as she imagined whacking herself on the head with an encyclopedia with every sentence she spoke.

Eventually, her office door opened just enough to allow a pair of books to slide through. The hushed  _ whisk  _ of paper on carpet filled a gap in the conversation.

Amy leapt from her desk, rushing to the still-open door and flinging it wider.

“You’re ridiculous!” she called through the doorway, but June had already disappeared from sight.

Jen looked up from the reference desk--finally,  someone was back from lunch--as if to ask what she had done wrong. Amy smiled, threw her an awkward, helpless wave, and closed the door again.

When she returned to her desk, she took a quick look at the books in her hand before giving them to Steve. There was a thin booklet on recipes for entertaining that looked to be from the 1950s and a well-worn copy of  _ Mastering the Art of French Cooking _ .

Amy tapped the heavier volume.

“This one’s a classic. Julia Child worked with the OSS during the war. That’s--”

“The CIA’s version of the SSR. I know; I was there.”

The snarky glint in his eye softened when he saw her remorseful expression.

“Huh. I wonder if--well. I wonder if we have--had--any mutual friends,” he said, almost to himself.

When Amy pretended not to hear, he held out the books.

“I’ll take both of ‘em. What do I need to do to check out?”

Her professional smile returned.

“Nothing! Just remember to bring them back in two weeks.”

He pulled out a phone and conscientiously made a note.

“Ah, okay. Maybe I’ll see you then,” he said when he was finished, rising from the chair and tucking the books under his arm.

Before she could respond, he was gone.

Amy got up to find her reference librarians. She didn’t want to set a precedent among them for gloating, but she certainly wasn’t above it.

Maybe this would teach them not to take extended lunch breaks.

*

He came back two weeks to the day, in the morning this time. Amy was at the reference desk, training Karla in acquisitions to share the workload.

Once again, he snuck up on them (how did a man so big move so quietly?), and by the time Karla looked up from the catalog she was working with, he was almost looming over the desk.

Amy had to stifle a laugh at Karla’s open-mouthed shock, but Steve ignored both their reactions.

He set the two cookbooks on the desk and readjusted a large casserole dish that had been tucked awkwardly under his arm.

Had he walked all the way from the parking lot trying to balance all three items? Someone needed to teach this man about tote bags.

“I’d like to return this,” he said, sliding the treatise on entertaining in the 1950s toward them. “But I need a little more time with this one.” He tapped the cover of  _ Mastering the Art of French Cooking _ almost reverently.

“What, are you trying to cook through the entire book?” Amy joked.

“Um, maybe…”

His seriousness took her by surprise, but she recovered quickly. Meanwhile, Karla was still staring.

“Sure, we can renew it no problem. Karla, you know if you return this book first, you can open his account under his S.H.I.E.L.D. ID and renew it from there.”

When the girl didn’t respond, Amy pushed the barcode scanner firmly into her hand and nudged both books in her direction.

Karla finally shut her mouth and worked slowly, still wide-eyed.

“That’s good,” he said. “Because I made you this in exchange for renewing that book.”

He handed her the casserole dish. She reached out for it, but paused.

“Oh, so you would have taken this home with you if our renewal policy had been different?”

“Sure.” He smirked.

“Really, though, you didn’t have to bring us anything. Pretty sure S.H.I.E.L.D frowns on bribes, even in the library.”

“Please take it.” He placed the dish on the desk and pushed it toward her. “After two weeks of cooking, my fridge is full of more food than even I could eat. And it’s not like I have anyone to cook for.”

Amy felt a twinge of embarrassment at the lonely edge in his voice. She turned away and peered at the contents of the dish instead.

“What is it, potato salad?”

“Yeah,  _ Pommes de terre à l’huile _ .”

She didn’t know French, but to her untrained ears, his pronunciation sounded pretty darn spectacular. Without thinking, she raised an eyebrow.

“What,” he said. “I spent some time in France. I know things.”

Amy patted herself on the back for temporarily forgetting a Captain America fact. Ten points to Gryffindor, and one giant leap toward normal, non-stalkerish conversation.

“Anyway, the French cookbook? Pretty good. The other one was a little...um. Fancy? For my taste.”

“Fancy. Really.”

The guy learns to cook like Julia Child and then turns around and says that Fifties housewifery is beyond his skill level.

“Here.” He picked up the slim volume and flipped through it until he found the page he wanted.

When he handed the book to Amy, she saw to her extreme chagrin that it was open to The One Vintage Recipe Steve Rogers Should Never Find.

On one page: a recipe titled “Banana Candle.” On the other page: a full-spread, black-and-white photograph of something that looked like something that was neither a banana nor a candle.

_ Nope _ , said the little voice in her head _ , this was not on the agenda for today _ .

Beside her, Karla was almost doubled up with laughter. The librarians had definitely discussed the Banana Candle when the topic of Important Cultural Events Steve Rogers Has Missed had come up.

“Um,” said Steve. “Are you aware that this doesn’t look like a candle  _ at all _ ?” His voice sounded so innocent, but good lord. He was  _ smirking _ .

Karla laughed even harder. Amy wheezed unprofessionally.

“Oh, she’s aware,” Karla piped up when she caught her breath. “That’s why she’s regretting all of her life choices right now.”

“The more I learn about the 1950s, the more grateful I am that I slept through that decade.”

Amy rose unsteadily to her feet and grasped the bowl of French potato salad.

“I’m, um. I’m going to take this back to the break room. See you later, Captain. Um. Steve.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him snicker once she’d left the desk. In any case, she reached the break room just in time before collapsing with hysterical giggles.

Later, when all the librarians had crammed into the crowded Metro car at rush hour, Amy turned to June to tell her about her day, but the archivist spoke first.

“Did he find the banana candle?” she blurted, mischief glinting in her eyes.

“YES,” Karla interrupted, squeezing in behind June.

Amy fought the urge to slap both of them.

Instead, she let go of the railing and buried her reddening face in her hands. When the Metro jolted forward, she almost fell over.

*

“What  _ is _ it?” Frank whined, sounding suspiciously like a small child whose mother had just given him a plate full of a new recipe that had been praised for creative use of vegetables.

Cora was the only one brave enough to get close to it. Even then, she just touched the serving platter. The orange atrocity wiggled gleefully, and she jumped back with a shudder.

Several other librarians were gathered around the break room dining table, with various expressions of shock and disgust.

“I think that’s what they call Jello salad,” Amy said.

It was orange-flavored Jello carefully molded in a neat star shape.

Amy really hoped Steve hadn’t bought the mold just for the Jello salad. Maybe she could find a way to suggest that he could use it for cakes instead.

Embedded in the Jello were several pieces of shrimp, what looked like pimientos, and--

“Is it just me, or are those green beans?” Roger pointed at the bottom layer of the salad.

“Um,” said Cora, covering her mouth and nose and going in for a closer look. “Yep, definitely green beans.”

A chorus of disgusted noises echoed throughout the room.

“I’m sure he meant well?” Amy offered.

“Hey,” Frank said with a devious grin. “Let’s show it to June and see what she has to say about it. She did give him the cookbook, after all.”

The job of carrying the Jello salad to June fell to Cora, since no one else would touch it. She trooped proudly across the main floor, the others trailing behind her and the orange Jello horror jiggling wildly.

To be fair, Amy thought, June probably hadn’t thought that Steve would make something so awful, let alone bring it in for them. 

When he returned the Julia Child book, he had brought them an amazing chocolate cake that hadn’t lasted a half hour in the break room.

At the time, Amy had been out helping an analyst sift through the S.H.I.E.L.D. databases, so he returned the book to the reference desk and left the cake in her office with a sticky note that read, “For Librarian Amy & co.,” with a tiny doodle of a book in the lower right-hand corner. The nickname had spread throughout A.C.C.E.S.S., and at least a few of her coworkers had changed her name in their phones to “Librarian Amy.” 

That time, Steve had picked up a small stack of mid-century cookbooks that June had set aside for him. Banana candles aside, he liked vintage recipes as much as he had enjoyed learning how to make French cuisine.

He was genuinely proud of the Jello salad when he’d brought it in and asked to renew this set of cookbooks, although he apologized about the flavor.

“It was supposed to be celery gelatin, but I guess they don’t make that anymore? I opted for orange instead--lime didn’t seem like a good choice just because it was green.”

Amy couldn’t help noticing that he’d pronounced orange like “ah-range,” probably a leftover of a Brooklyn accent. Even after watching some of his interviews last summer, she had kind of expected his voice to sound like the tinny Midwestern-sounding quality of old radio announcers, but it just sounded...normal.

It was nice to know that he was stubborn enough to keep some fragments of his old life.

Feeling a little nostalgic, she accepted the shockingly orange salad with as polite a thank-you as she could muster. Maybe it was because she didn’t have the heart to turn down the offer of food when she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that he could just renew library books online and that there was a book return slot right next to the A.C.C.E.S.S. door.

All the librarians followed Cora and the wiggling Jello salad into Special Collections, trooping past the filing cabinets and movable shelves into the adjoining processing room.

June was sitting at a large table, nearly buried in piles of old documents and photos, several fresh-looking blue archival storage boxes, and a neat stack of new file folders. When she looked up from her work, her eyes focused on the librarians and then narrowed when she saw what Cora was holding. She jumped up, sending a couple of empty boxes tumbling across the floor.

“OH GROSS,” she yelled. “Get that thing out of here and throw it away, right now!”

She ran toward them, making shooing motions with her hands, and they fell back, laughing. Once they had all made it out, she shut the door emphatically.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘no’ on the Jello salad,” Roger quipped.

“I don’t know.” Cora wiggled the dish cautiously. “It’s starting to grow on me. Maybe I’ll carry it around for the rest of the day.”

Frank snatched the plate out of her hands.

“Oh no you don’t,” he shouted as he strode toward the break room, the orange Jello horror wobbling violently the whole way.

*

“So how was the Jello salad?” Steve asked a little too innocently, handing over the latest installment of cookbooks to be returned.

He had brought in another casserole dish today. Amy couldn’t see what was in it, but she eyed it with suspicion as she wondered how she could avoid hurting his feelings.

“It disappeared pretty fast,” she offered finally.

“But nobody ate it, I guess.” Despite her efforts, he looked sheepish.

She gave him a sympathetic nod.

“I shoulda known something was wrong with it. I made another one and brought it to a...to a meeting. Stark was pretty clear on what he thought about it, and Natasha--um, Agent Romanoff--drop-kicked it out the window.”

“Ouch, sorry.”

He shrugged and held out the casserole dish.

“Maybe this’ll make up for it. I was going to try it, but Barton ate the whole thing the first time I made it. That’s got to count for something, right? And anyway, it has potato chips. Everybody likes potato chips.”

“Of course.”

She stared inside the dish. It was definitely a casserole topped with a layer of chips, but she couldn’t tell what else was in it.

“Thanks! I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it at lunch today,” she tried.

It must not have worked, because his face fell a little.

“Well. I’ll, um. I guess I’ll check back in a while for more cookbooks.”

“Wait!” She thought quickly. “I don’t know if you know this, but we have some of your things in our Special Collections room. You know, from--before. There’s some photos, sketchbooks, lots of old files, stuff like that. You’re welcome to take a look around, if you’d like.”

“Sure.” He looked startled by the sudden offer.

“Let me take this casserole to the break room, and then I’ll show you around.”

She picked up the dish and booked it for the break room, leaving him standing at the desk. Once she set the casserole down on the large dining table, she grabbed her phone and sent June a quick text.

“Heading your way with [American flag emoji],” she wrote.

June promptly shot back a series of exclamation marks and then “thanks.”

The Special Collections room was open to anyone with a S.H.I.E.L.D. ID (by request, so the librarians could make sure the room stayed tidy and the documents were unharmed), but it was still June’s domain. Amy thought it was only fair to warn her friend that she was about to be invaded by her least favorite superhero, especially since she’d been aggressively avoiding him since he started coming to A.C.C.E.S.S.

The other librarians were more amused than baffled by June’s behavior because they chalked it up to their conversation about Captain America that first day he arrived.

Amy had hoped that June would come to the same realization that she had over the past few weeks: that Steve was more than his persona, more than some kind of post-war propaganda. Sure, he was everything that she’d read about, but he was awkward and a little shy...and also slightly obnoxious in a way that would work well with June’s sense of humor.

Still, it was hard to see all of this when you actively avoided meeting the guy.

Amy would have been really annoyed with June if her avoidance techniques hadn’t been so funny. 

Apparently, when Steve had brought over the chocolate cake, June had been chatting with Karla at the reference desk. As soon as she saw him walk in the door, she dove behind the desk and stayed hidden until he left.

Karla said he had looked more than a little confused when he reached the desk.

“Weren’t there...two of you?” he had mouthed.

Karla told him no, but the way she had laughed when she told the story suggested that she hadn’t been very convincing.

It was plain that having Steve around the library genuinely bothered June. Amy might have enjoyed giving her friend a hard time now and then, but there was a difference between teasing a friend with orange Jello horror and making her uncomfortable.

Still, it was worth the effort to bring Steve to June’s Special Collections room.

He didn’t react the way Amy had when she’d seen the room for the first time--wide-eyed and open mouthed at the sight of rows upon rows of filing cabinets and movable shelves. Instead, he took stock of his surroundings with a glazed expression.

Amy guessed that by now, getting introduced to new surroundings was routine for him.

She showed him where to find the Steven Grant Rogers Collection, which included a few shelves of books and archival boxes and an entire filing cabinet full of newspaper and magazine articles, comics, and unclassified and declassified World War II files.

She didn’t mention that helping June curate the filing cabinet had been one of her pet projects over the past few months.

Steve considered the cabinet before drifting back to the movable shelves. He read the labels on each of the boxes before selecting the first one and carefully opening the lid.

Amy excused herself by saying, “Um, unfortunately we haven’t set up a reading area in here yet so there isn’t really a good place to sit. But hey, you take as much time as you need, and let us know if you need anything, okay?”

He barely grunted, already nose-deep in file folders.

She escaped to the break room, where staff members were starting to drift in for lunch. It was probably best to leave Steve to his own devices, and in any case, Ryan was filling in at the reference desk if he needed help.

The librarians had already started to investigate the casserole dish. It was the same one that Steve had used for the potato salad weeks earlier, and even though that recipe had been delicious, his taste in food had taken a completely different direction since he’d mastered the art of French cooking.

Roger, who always emerged from the catalogers’ lair for lunch at 11:30 on the dot, was there by now, poking at the saran wrap that covered the dish.

As Amy brought her lunch bag to the table, he peeled the plastic off and sniffed the contents of the dish cautiously.

“It seems to be some kind of casserole--”

“Think we already figured that out, Rog,” she snarked.

“--covered in potato chips,” he finished, responding to her grin with a scowl. “I can’t tell what’s underneath the chips.”

“Well, I don’t want to try it to find out,” said Frank as he pulled out a chair and sat down emphatically.

Amy nodded, her mouth too full of sandwich to reply.

Just then, Cora drifted in and asked, “What are we not finding out?”

Roger stabbed at the dish in front of him.

“What’s in Captain America’s mystery casserole.”

“Ooh! I wanna try!” She raced to the kitchen cupboards to get a plate and silverware.

Not to be outdone, Roger followed her and got a plate and fork of his own.

Back at the table, Cora scooped out a gooey brown mound of casserole for each of them, then turned to Amy and Frank.

  
“Sure you don’t want any?” she asked sweetly.

They both shook their heads.

“I can’t believe you guys are doing this,” Amy said, laughing.

Cora swirled the food with her fork, inspecting it, while Roger looked at his plate and made a face. Each took a bite of casserole and chewed slowly.

“Mmm, tuna!” Cora chirped with her mouth full, already reaching for more.

Roger gulped and wrinkled his nose before setting his plate down deliberately.

“Chips are a bit stale,” he managed.

Cora smirked at him and reached for the dish, helping herself with another serving of casserole.

“You’re disgusting,” Roger told her before getting his own lunch from the fridge.

By now, Frank was laughing so hard he was nearly in tears, and Amy was so entertained by the minions’ antics that she had practically abandoned her sandwich.

The hilarity in the break room increased each time someone new walked in and had to decide whether or not to try the casserole, so it took Amy a long time to finish her lunch and return to her office. She figured Steve had either left by now or still wanted to be left alone.

When she opened the door to her office, she was greeted by the sight of June sitting sideways in her office chair and reading a book, her legs dangling precariously over the arm of the chair.

Amy raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“Well,  _ my _ workspace has been taken over by a sniveling supersoldier, so it’s only fair,” June retorted with an emphatic kick. 

“Wait, he’s actually crying?”

“Sobbing.” She wiggled her foot again until her shiny blue heel slipped off and hit the floor with a thunk. “He better not get those photos wet.”

She unfolded herself from the chair, bent over to pick up the heel, and slipped it back on her foot. When she looked up again, she looked genuinely upset, and Amy knew she wasn’t just concerned about the photos.

“Amy. There is a crying man in Special Collections. What do I do?”

Here was yet another way they were different, Amy thought.

As for herself, she could handle helping other people deal with their emotions, even if she didn’t understand. Fixing people--well, people she cared about--was a full-time job, and she rarely took the time to think about what she was feeling and what she wanted to do about it.

June was capable of dealing with her own emotions. When she wasn’t excited about something or other, she was fairly calm. If she was upset or depressed about something, that mood either lasted for a short burst or, if not, she talked it through with Amy until she felt better.

It hadn’t occurred to Amy before that June might not be as comfortable around other people’s feelings.

“I think,” she said slowly, “he’s been through a lot over the past year. I’m sure he just needs some time to process.”

“Okay...I’m just going to hide out in the break room until he leaves, then.” June bounced out of the chair, suddenly relieved, and headed for the door with the book still in her hand.

Amy sighed and rolled her eyes, then squinted at the book June was holding. It was a glossy new volume on 1940s textiles that looked all too familiar.

“Is that,” she began, looking back toward her shelves, “is that  _ my _ book?”

“Just be glad I’m not writing corrections in the margins for you. The pictures are nice, but it’s not that accurate.”

Amy didn’t even have time to ask how June knew so much about vintage fabrics before the archivist had left the office with the book.

She sat down at her desk with a sigh. Mystery casseroles, emotional superheroes in Special Collections, and even more discoveries about her oldest friend. All in a day’s work.

*

Steve came back a few days later and asked to look at Special Collections again. Amy texted another warning to June and let him into the room.

When they entered, they found that the movable shelves had already been opened to the Rogers Collection, and a large armchair had been pushed into the closest corner, providing the room with its only seating option, aside from the wooden table and chairs in the neighboring processing room.

Amy recognized the blue-and-white chair from June’s apartment; she knew Frank had helped bring it over the other day, but she had assumed that it was for June and Cora to use during reading breaks.

Instead, a thin paperback cookbook was propped up on the chair. A sticky note attached to the glossy cover read  _ Captain Rogers _ in June’s loping cursive. 

It wasn’t a library book. When Steve flipped open the cover, June’s name was written inside.

“Is that the librarian I’m not supposed to see?” he asked, lightly underlining the name with his index finger.

“...yes,” Amy replied.

Another sticky note marked one of the pages, about halfway through the book. Spread across both pages were about five different recipes for chocolate truffles.

The note read:  _ More of these and fewer casseroles, please _ .

“Seems she likes chocolate,” he said. “Maybe I should check some of those old cookbooks to see what weird things they paired with chocolate in the 1950s.”

“Do not,” Amy said.

“Chocolate and grapefruit, probably? Chocolate fondue with olives? Chicken mousse with chocolate sauce?”

“Steve. No.”

*

Several weeks later, June emailed Amy a link with a message that read:  _ Your friend has a birthday coming up. I bet he would appreciate this. _

When Amy opened the link, she found an ebay listing for an eagle-shaped vintage gelatin mold featuring a Captain America shield.

She promptly forwarded the link to the rest of the staff. The librarians pooled their money and by the week of the 4th of July, the gelatin mold was put in a plain blue gift bag and stowed under the reference desk.

Steve was due to come in that Tuesday to renew or return his latest round of cookbooks, so they gave it to him then.

Amy was at the desk with Karla and Jen, but other librarians filed into the main area when they saw him come in.

When Amy presented him with the gift, he politely pulled out the card first and read it:

_ In appreciation of your culinary efforts. Happy birthday! _

_ \--Librarian Amy & co. _

“Oh boy,” he said before plunging his hand into the tissue paper again and retrieving the gelatin mold.

He stood there for a minute holding the mold, a chagrinned smile spreading across his face.

A few hushed snickers came from the direction of the reference minions.

“Well,” Steve began. “I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did,” Karla and Jen blurted in unison.

Once the laughter had died down, Amy addressed Steve again.

“I don’t know if you have anything planned, but since we have the day off, I’m doing a cookout at my place for the staff on Thursday. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

He looked genuinely surprised, and a little pleased.

“Oh, um. I have some PR things to go to earlier that day. You know, Fourth of July. Everyone wants to see Captain America on their TV. But if it’s late enough, I might be able to stop by.”

He looked around, scanning the faces of the librarians that had gathered around the desk.

“Is, um. Is that one librarian going to be there, and should I try to avoid her?”

Amy smiled. “Yeah, she should be there, but I’m pretty sure she’d be ok with meeting you now.”

“Oh, good. What can I bring?”

“Don’t feel like you need to bring anything. No really,” she interrupted when he opened his mouth to protest. “ _ Don’t bring anything _ .”

“Aw, man. I gotta find an excuse to use this thing!” He waved the patriotic gelatin mold, and the librarians groaned.

“Hmm. I bet there’s a vintage recipe for a red-white-and-blue Jello salad somewhere.”

Amy sighed and shook her head. She might have created a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out librariansofshield.tumblr.com for fic updates, fangirly Captain America posts from the librarians (*cough* Amy *cough cough*), and maybe even a Horrifying Vintage Recipe or two...
> 
> Writing Steve in the Librariansverse has been so much fun! You can definitely expect to see more of him (and other Avengers) in upcoming fics, so stay tuned.


	2. Librarians of S.H.I.E.L.D. vs. Birdbrain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dovetails with the events of [ Collection Development. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044955/chapters/27272682)
> 
> Librariansverse!Clint is a lot more like Fraction!Hawkeye than anything else, because he's a lot more fun to write, and also canonically deaf characters are cool.

“I’m ready to install that new software on your office computer,” Frank interrupted Amy during her shift at the reference desk. He looked as chipper as ever, his neat coiffure greased back into a carefully manicured wave.

And then came the question Amy was dreading: “What’s the password to your desktop?”

“Oh. Um…”

She grimaced, reaching for a pencil in the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo mug on the desk and beginning to pick at the eraser.

“It’s ok! I won’t tell.” He beamed, oozing assurance.

Frank had always puzzled Amy, because he didn’t seem to fit in with the other Computer Services workers at the Triskelion. Now, his cheerful, well-groomed personality made sense. He was good at helping people with their computer problems, not just good with computers; he made people trust him.

_ Reference librarians could learn a lot from that,  _ she thought, making a mental note to share that with her reference minions during their next team meeting.

“If I write the password down, you have to 1) promise not to laugh and 2) tear up the paper and eat it so no one else finds it.”

Frank snorted. “Or you could just...whisper it in my ear if that makes you feel better.”

Exasperated, Amy scribbled on a post-it note and pressed it into his hand.

He dramatically shielded the note while he read it and looked up at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Bananacandle1945? Really?”

She shushed him frantically.

“But why?! Isn’t that that one horrifying vintage food that looks like a...you know…?”

He waved his hands in a roughly banana candle shape as Amy shushed him more vigorously and leaned over the table to bat at his hand-waving.

“Don’t judge! I had to change my password right after Steve found that recipe, and I just. I couldn’t think of anything else--hey!” She chucked the post-it note pad at Frank. “Stop laughing! You promised!”

“I’m giggling, there’s a difference.”

“Sure…”

Just then, Heidi and Karla appeared, looking frazzled. Amy mentally prepared herself to help them solve some kind of library problem.

“What are you two giggling about?” Heidi demanded.

“See? Giggling,” Frank told Amy.

To Heidi, he said, “Nothing.”

“You’re a good friend,” Amy said, then shooed him off to install software in her office. “What’s up, you two?”

“So I was helping Heidi with roving reference,” Karla began.

“We think some books are missing!” Heidi jumped in, her eyes wide with panic. “They’re listed as shelved on the A.C.C.E.S.S. database, but they aren’t there.”

Amy sighed. She had spent the past few years working at a public library where she’d had to deal with everything from missing books to missing coworkers to someone else’s missing shoe that turned up looking suspiciously slimy on the reference desk. A.C.C.E.S.S. had only been operating about six months, but it was lucky this was their first time to deal with missing books.

“Did you check--”

“--around the area to see if it was misshelved?” asked Karla. “Yep.”

“Alright, let me know which ones they were, and I’ll tag them on the database so we’ll know if they show up. If not, I can replace them next time I put in a book order.”

The missing books were field guides for three eastern European countries--not books or topics that were in high demand at S.H.I.E.L.D., but they got enough circulation that Amy would replace them if they were gone forever.

It took her a while, though, not just to mark the books but to console the analyst who had requested them. He was an older man who was a little distressed about the thought of searching through digital sources instead of reading a print book. In the end, she placed a hold on them for him and printed off several articles that seemed relevant to his research.

She was glad that Karla and Heidi stuck around to observe, and she made a mental note to talk about what they’d learned during tomorrow’s staff meeting. 

By the time they were finished, Frank had emerged from Amy’s office and was lounging over the reference desk with a cup of coffee. He looked as worn out as Amy felt, although if Frank was looking shabby, she was sure she must be even worse.

*

Karla snagged Amy on the way to staff meeting the next morning and pushed two thin volumes into her hands.

“Heidi checked these in from the book drop this morning, and they hadn’t been checked out. They’ve been...written in,” she said in a shocked tone.

As Amy flipped through both books, she saw that the larger one had had several words and paragraphs scratched out with purple ballpoint pen. The other, a declassified monograph on an agent’s experiences in Odessa in the early 80s, had been thoroughly mutilated in the same color ink.

On the title page, the borrower had drawn a caricature of an 80s-era S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a pornstache and aviators. A speech bubble protruded from the agent’s ear, and the text was a little hard to make out, but it looked like, “My Russian is balls.”

Amy let out a scandalized giggle.

The other pages weren’t great, either. Grease stains soaked through most of the pages, a coffee ring adorned the last few, and a partially intelligible grocery list was scrawled on the back.

“Well, that’s still better than the time someone drew penises all over the children’s picture books at my old job,” she said a little too loudly to Karla as they walked into the conference room.

All the other librarians looked up at her.

“Damn, some people are messed up,” Heidi said.

“Hey,” June said, taking the monograph out of Amy’s hands. “This looks like something Special Collections should have a copy of, but we don’t. How did it end up in the main stacks?”

Amy sighed. “I’ll order an extra copy for you when I replace this one.”

“Hey,” June said again, distracted by the drawing on the monograph. She squinted at the purple ink, then brought the paper to her nose and sniffed deeply.

“Yep. Scorched coffee.” She grimaced. “I know who did this. Amy, when did Steve say the next Avengers meeting was?”

“Aren’t those, like, super top-classified?” Heidi asked.

June snorted. “This _ is _ Captain Government Transparency is Next to Godliness we’re talking about here.”

“Oh, right.”

“He said today at 9:30,” Amy said after checking her phone.

“Aaaaaaand it’s 10:05 now.” June jumped out of her chair. “If we hurry, we might catch your book thief!” 

She grabbed the box of pastries off the conference room table and ran out of the room.

“Right,” Amy spoke up after a beat. “Y’all are dismissed to go back to your regular shifts. We’ll pick up the staff meeting tomorrow.”

Amy found June on the top floor of the library, perched cross-legged on top of one of the bookshelves so she could stare at the ceiling. The pastry box beside her was still almost full, but there was evidence of jam around her mouth.

“What are we doing,” Amy asked slowly.

“It’s a Hawkeye trap,” replied June. “He should be here any minute now.”

Before Amy could ask anything else, one of the ceiling tiles slid open and a pair of legs dangled out. As the rest of the person emerged from the ceiling, he made eye contact with June and froze.

“Uh,” he said, dropping to the floor. He grinned helplessly and waved an ASL “B” sign in front of his chest in a serpentine line, still looking at June.

She leapt, catlike, off the top of the bookcase.

“Don’t run away now,” she said, handing him a pastry. “We need to have a word with you about your patron record here at A.C.C.E.S.S.”

He shoved the pastry in his mouth and signed lazily, and she rolled her eyes.

“For Pete’s sake, turn your hearing aid on, then. Don’t be rude to my friend Amy,” she said, while signing what Amy presumed was the same thing.

The man pressed something in his ear, then extended his other hand for Amy to shake. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. Just. Whatever. I’m Clint.”

“Agent Clint Barton,” June prompted.

“What,” said Amy. “ _ That  _ Agent Barton?”

He shrugged.

“It’s an honor to meet you, uh, sir.” Wow, meeting superheroes wasn’t getting any easier, was it.

“Nice to meet you, too. I’m a big fan of your summer reading program.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Nat--uh. Agent Romanoff gave me a poster with me and a bunch of glitter on it, and I had to check it out. I’ve, um. Been trying to keep up.”

He pulled a crumpled paper out of his pocket and unfurled it to reveal one of the summer reading program progress charts the interns had designed. Seven titles were filled in with the same purple ink and haphazard handwriting from the monograph, which June was now brandishing at Agent Barton.

“So we noticed,” June said.

“Oh. Is that what this is about,” he said, eyeing the hole in the ceiling longingly.

June smacked him lightly with the monograph. “What is wrong with you! You know better than that.”

“This is a library,” he said slowly. “Borrowing books is kinda what you guys are all about.”

“Okay,” Amy began. “So we have a little thing called use statistics, and when you check out a book, we gather information on how many people are interested in that book so we know how important it is to S.H.I.E.L.D. and whether or not we need to order multiple copies of the book or if we should discard it to leave more shelf room for more important books.”

“Sorry. I thought if I just brought the books back, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Well, we know you have good intentions, but what if you spilled coffee on them or accidentally used them for target practice?”

Agent Barton pointed at Amy.

“I like her,” he said to June. “She knows me so well already.”

June cleared her throat. “...or if you spilled pizza on a book. Or if your dog ate a book. Or if you spilled pizza on a book and then your dog ate it.”

“And you know me  _ too  _ well.”

June smirked. “Well, don’t get either of us started on what you did to the books you did manage to return. Although McGinty’s Russian  _ is _ balls, and he’s kind of a jerk anyway.”

“Wait, you worked with the agent who wrote that monograph?” asked Amy.

“Shortly before he retired, yes, don’t get me sidetracked. Anyway, Clint, even if your little edits are technically correct, we’re going to have to replace the books you wrote in.”

He looked well and truly chagrined. “Sorry. I’ll...I’ll pay for them. Fuck. Just let me know what the books cost, and I’ll pay it back.”

“Well, next time you have books to return, bring them to the desk and we’ll let you know. And,” June continued, waving the pastry box in front of him, “If you come to the desk and check out some books today, I might give you another danish.”

He looked hopeful.

“ _ Might _ . I’ll consider it.”

“Aw, Bachman.”

*

Amy took possession of Agent Barton’s vandalized books on the way back downstairs. She didn’t feel as angry with him as she’d expected. Possibly he was the kind of person you just couldn’t stay mad at, although she suspected it was also because she related to his food-motivated nature. June had been known to bribe her into social activities with tea or cheese.

Plus, it might be fun to have another superhero around. Preferably one who didn’t bring odd vintage jello salads to the break room.

Frank greeted them when they reached the main level. “Amy, you might want to change your desktop password. I mean, that’s a good thing to do regularly anyway, but yeah…”

He looked strained.

“Mitchell Franklin, what the hell did you do.”

As if Amy hadn’t had enough to deal with lately.

“You know how you gave me that post-it note with your password on it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I...mighta left it on your desk yesterday.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, it wasn’t there this morning, along with the coffee mug I left there.”

Great, now there was a coffee bandit on the loose, too.

“What’s the mug look like?” June asked. “I can keep an eye out for it.”

“It has the logo for the Pink Couch Machine on it.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Pink Couch Machine. It’s an indie band, you’ve probably never heard of it.”

Amy sighed. “And you would be correct. Alright, thanks for the heads up, Frank. I’ll change that password first thing.”

June followed Amy back to her office.

“So, missing password, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Amy murmured, logging onto her desktop with Bananacandle1945 one last time. She felt oddly relieved. Her new password would be more reasonable. Maybe her birthday. Or Steve’s...uh, no. Not again.

“Must be either super embarrassing or have something to do with Captain America to have you this upset about it,” June observed.

Amy nodded absentmindedly. “Both, I guess.”

“Ew, I don’t want to know!”

She disappeared before Amy could say any more.

A few minutes later, Agent Barton arrived at the desk with a small stack of books to check out. Heidi scanned the books out for him. Amy noticed she was awed, but certainly not bashful, since the intern tried to give him her phone number before he left.

He shrugged and shook his head, pointing to his ear.

“Sorry,” he said and escaped as quickly as he could.

As soon as he left, Amy heard a shout that sounded like it belonged to Ryan.

“ _ Ay, dios mio!  _ I leave for one little optometrist appointment, and guess who visits the library while I’m gone.”

He came into view through Amy’s office window, and she could see him fangirling with Heidi at the desk.

“I literally ran into Hawkeye! He was walking out the door as I was coming in, and...and...and…” Ryan was alternately clutching his chest and waving his arms in the air.

“I know! So cool, right? I literally  _ and _ figuratively checked him out, if ya know what I mean,” Heidi said.

Amy laughed to herself as she turned back to her computer. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only fangirl in the library.


End file.
